


Nights On The Prairie

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-14
Updated: 2006-03-14
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8089996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Circumstances test Trip's faith in himself. (03/15/2005)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Trip's poem is "Murmurings in a Field Hospital," from Carl Sandburg's _Chicago Poems._  


* * *

I walk by myself—I stand and look at the stars, which I think now I never realized before.  
Now I absorb immortality and peace, I admire death, and test propositions.

â€”Walt Whitman, _Leaves of Grass _, "Night on the Prairie"__

Trip lifted the large, hammer-like tool, swinging it up over his shoulder, and he then used the momentum and its weight to slam it down, driving a fastener into the track that threaded along the ground in front of him. Malcolm knelt next to him, readying another tie.

Trip paused for a moment, leaning on his hammer as he wiped the sweat away from his forehead with the back of one hand. He let his eyes fall on Malcolm and stared as the other man struggled with his work.

Trip felt useless, unable to help him. He was barely able to help himself.

He glanced up at the sky. It was odd. It looked a lot like an earth sky; about the same shade of blue, and with similar clouds trailing across it, the bright sunlight making their edges glow. You'd think you were at home in the States if you didn't know better, he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile. Maybe a plains state, like Nebraska. Someplace with big sky.

A guard passed nearby, and Trip started working again, matching his pace to that of the others around him. Only two days, he thought, swinging the hammer up over his shoulder again with a grunt. Un- fucking-believable.

Just two days ago he'd been sitting on Enterprise, obsessing over taking some stupid, ridiculous exam. He slammed the hammer down again, driving the fastener in deeper. Un-fucking-believable.

### Before

Trip fidgeted on the bench, nervously waiting outside the closed door. He glanced at Hoshi next to him, but she was focused on her padd. He looked up towards Malcolm on the opposite bench, but he was leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed.

Both were obviously passing the time in their own ways, trying to relax.

Trip spoke anyway, shifting nervously in his seat. "I used to have this dream..."

Malcolm squinted his eyes open. "Where you were writing an exam..."

Hoshi interrupted, "But you'd forgotten to study, right?"

Trip simply nodded.

Malcolm opened his eyes fully and leaned a bit forward. "I actually had that happen to me once," he said, frowning slightly. "I walked into the hall for class and noticed, first, the silence; next, that people were oddly focused on their notes; and last, that the teacher had a pile of papers on her desk. I felt my stomach drop, and I managed to ask the person next to me if there was an exam scheduled. There was." He grimaced. "I hated writing exams enough, but to take one without having revised..."

"When was that?" Trip asked.

"Year Ten."

"How'd you do?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Not bad, surprisingly. It helped, I think, that I was current on the reading."

Trip nodded. "Happened to me once in eleventh grade. Math." He shook, as if chilled. "I wouldn't want to relive that moment."

Hoshi placed her padd on her lap: "I've always hated taking tests."

Trip looked at her, surprised. "I'd have figured that you'd like them, being a professor and all."

Hoshi shook her head. "All that means is that I've had a lot of experience with them."

"But you do well, right?"

"Yup, thank goodness," Hoshi replied, smiling. "And as a teacher, I find them necessary in certain circumstances, but..." She grimaced. "Too much pressure."

"I've always sucked at tests." Trip said miserably. "I mean, just gimme the damn engine, and I'll tell you all about it. Hell, I'll teach you how to assemble the damn thing. But writing it down on paper?" He shook his head in disgust. "Ugh."

"Yeah, some of my students are like that," Hoshi replied as the door opened up, revealing a drained, yet relieved, Travis Mayweather.

Hoshi smiled broadly. "How'd it go, Travis?"

"Fine. No problems, I think," he said, with a huge, thankful smile.

Trip peered up at him from the bench. "You seem awful happy for having just taken a test."

"I don't mind exams. I'm pretty good at them."

The crewman who'd volunteered to be proctor poked her head out of the door. "Lieutenant Reed?"

Malcolm stood and nodded at the proctor, who smiled slightly and went back into room. As Malcolm strode toward the door, Trip whispered, "Dead man walking." He leaned back and smiled broadly as Hoshi and Travis laughed.

"Break a leg, Malcolm," Hoshi said cheerily.

"That might actually be preferable," Malcolm said softly as he turned and entered the room.

### Now

The guards called out, and Trip let his hammer fall from his grasp, finally done for the day. He rubbed his hands gently against each other, careful of the blisters and cuts while trying to brush away at least some of the dirt.

He squatted down next to Malcolm, who was sitting nearby, exhaustion plain on his too-pale face, his movements slow and stiff as he placed the leftover ties back into their container. Trip started to help his friend put away the fasteners, whispering, "You okay?"

Malcolm simply nodded, his eyes still on the fasteners.

Trip continued working, watching him out of the corner of his vision, knowing he couldn't really do much to help.

### Before

Captain Archer addressed his staff, reading from the padd in his hand. "The Starfleet Testing Service appreciates your willingness to take this exam."

Malcolm muttered, "Not that refusing was truly an option."

Trip laughed, putting his head down to cover it.

Jon looked from one man to the other and then, pointedly choosing to ignore their comments, continued reading from his padd. "Your answers will be used to improve the promotions exams for everyone."

Trip looked at him expectantly. "But how'd we do, captain?"

Jon glanced at him as he passed the tests back, moving from one person to the next. "Just remember, these don't go into your files or anything. It was just a way of, well, testing the tests."

As Jon handed them out, Malcolm accepted his results with resignation, Trip with a jerk at the padd, Travis with enthusiasm, and Hoshi with a small, worried smile. Each looked at their exam.

Trip groaned. "A C+? Jesus, captain." He slapped the padd down onto his lap.

Archer held up his hands, mollifying. "I know, I know, but remember, it's just a test..."

Trip muttered, "I hate these fu..." The rest of his comment was lost as his head went down to his exam and he started looking through his results to see what he got wrong. After a moment, he looked up, catching a glimpse of Malcolm with his results upside down, not visible.

Expressionless, Malcolm asked, "Dismissed, sir?"

Jon nodded, and Trip watched Malcolm leave without a backward glance, his posture stiff.

Trip turned to Travis, his eyebrows raised. "So how'd you guys do?"

Travis held up his paper. "A," he said simply.

Hoshi held hers up. "Likewise."

Trip rolled his eyes. "God damn it," he said in frustration, shaking his head. "Fine." He looked at the captain expectantly.

Jon smiled slightly. "Dismissed."

### Now

Trip lay on his back, staring at the stars above him as they glittered in the clear night sky. It was cold, and he could hear the sound of the wind whistling around the sod walls he had built their first night here, after noticing others in the camp had done the same. He hadn't built a ceiling yet, but the walls were enough for now, sheltering them from the brunt of the often-bitter night wind.

He stared at one of the walls for a while, counting the "bricks" of interlaced turf, trying to rest his mind, hoping for sleep. He glanced over at Malcolm. The other man was sleeping fitfully, sweating despite the cool temperatures. Not good. He was probably feverish, and Trip was pretty sure that the wound on his back was already infected.

Trip looked away quickly. There was nothing he could do for him here. They just had to stay alive until Enterprise...He shook his head, trying to stop his mind's spinning, trying to relax.

He stared up at the stars again, waiting for rescue: Enterprise, or sleep; whichever came first.

### Before

Trip wandered into the mess, still wearing the sweats he'd been trying to sleep in, his wrinkled shirt left casually untucked as he padded into the room. Noticing that the space was empty, he started humming to himself as he got a mug of cocoa and stood over the desserts tray, evaluating his options. Smiling, he grabbed a brownie, sans nuts, and strode towards the window.

Rounding the couch, he saw Malcolm slumped down, almost invisible he was sunk so low into the seat. Trip glanced at the padd next to his friend; the test results from earlier? He cleared his throat.

Malcolm jumped a mile.

"Sorry, kid," Trip said, sliding into the seat beside Malcolm. "Thinking about the exam results?"

Malcolm grimaced. "Can't sleep."

"Neither can I," Trip said as he tucked into his brownie. "Want some?" he asked, turning to Malcolm, catching his friend's eye as he said, "You know, it doesn't go in your file. It's meaningless."

Malcolm didn't look convinced as he reached to take a small piece of brownie.

Trip took a sip of his drink. "What did you get, anyway?"

Malcolm, chewing, now looked puzzled.

"On the test, what was your _grade_?" Trip said slowly, enunciating each word.

After a hesitation, Malcolm finally replied, "I don't really want to tell you." He blushed slightly.

Trip looked at Malcolm in surprise. 'Okay, fine," he said, finishing off his brownie, deciding to let the topic go, save his friend the embarrassment. He yawned. "It's late, and I have an early shift. I'll see you..."

"A-," Malcolm said softly, interrupting.

"Excuse me?"

"I got an A-."

"That's great, Malcolm," Trip said cautiously. He wrapped his hands around his cup and leaned towards his friend, confused. "So, what's wrong?"

"It wasn't the grade, so much. It was what I got wrong." Malcolm paused. "Cryptography."

Trip nodded.

Malcolm sat straighter, then leaned forward. "I'm supposed to know it. It's part of my job as a tactical officer."

"But Hoshi..."

"I know, it's part of her speciality, but still, I should know it," he said with disappointment, shaking his head. "I used to know it. I..." His voice trailed away, and he sighed, staring out at the stars. "I'm afraid that I haven't been keeping up with the latest advances." He looked to Trip, blushing, his hands folded tightly together. "I just haven't time to read all the journals. I mean, I..."

Trip interrupted him. "None of us have time to keep up with everything, Malcolm. You kind of have your hands full, here." He smiled. "It's part of being the boss. You have to know what to focus on, what you _have_ to do yourself, and what you can rely on others for." He took a sip of his drink, thinking. "And some things, things you can't control, you may just have to let go."

Malcolm shook his head, and was just opening his mouth to respond when the alarms went off.

### Now

Trip sat up, his back stiff from the cold, hard ground beneath him. The sun was rising, and their guards would be signalling them awake soon.

He sat curled in around his knees, his legs bent and his arms around them for warmth in the chill morning as he watched his breath coiling out in a fog. He watched as Malcolm slept, his features slowly revealed by the rising sun; his face pale, but with a flush of pink on his cheeks. His friend was lying on his side, his head pillowed by one arm, the other curled up in front of him.

Trip scooted over to Malcolm, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing as he slept. Trip could feel the heat coming off of his body from the fever, and worried. Malcolm had an infection, probably, or worse, but there was nothing that he could do here. They had no medicine, no bandages, not even any blankets; nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Malcolm winced, caught in the midst of a dream, and Trip rubbed his shoulder lightly, whispering, "Shh..."

### Before

"There's a distress call from the planet below us," the captain said, pacing in front of the group assembled in the shuttlebay. "A Denobulan ship crashed, and they're asking for help. They said that there are no injuries, but their ship has been damaged." He stopped pacing, and turned to face Trip. "Trip, I'd like you and Malcolm to take a shuttle and head down."

Trip nodded and glanced at Malcolm.

"Luckily, they came down well away from the main population centres." Jon turned his eyes to Malcolm. "But be careful; we don't want to come into contact with anyone if we can avoid it. From the communications we've been able to intercept, I don't think they'd take well to visitors."

* * *

Trip twisted slightly in his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of Malcolm behind him in the shuttle without taking too much attention from the controls in front of him. He heard rustling, and then a small crash. "What are you doing back there?" he asked, laughing slightly.

"Sorry, commander," Malcolm replied, sliding into the seat next to Trip's. "I was checking on our supplies, and I..."

Trip smiled, interrupting. "I'm sure the supplies are fine." He arched his eyebrows and glanced at Malcolm. "Unless what I just heard..." He let his voice trail off.

Malcolm smiled and shook his head, widening his eyes when the shuttle jerked to the side roughly.

"Crap," Trip muttered under his breath as he turned his full attention to piloting their vehicle. He stared at the instruments. "I can see why the Denobulans crashed. This atmosphere is full of..." He stopped speaking as the shuttle jolted to the side again. "Malcolm," he said, his voice tight. "Could you go check..."

Malcolm nodded sharply, and slid out of the seat, walking towards the back of the shuttle.

The shuttle jerked again and Trip heard a muffled swear. Keeping his eyes on the instruments, he shot back over his shoulder, "You okay back there?" as the shuttle began trembling.

"Never better," came Malcolm's unsteady reply, his voice shaking with the vibration of the ship.

The shuttle jumped again, and they cleared the clouds. As Trip tried to control their descent, he could see only brown below him. No forests, no cities, just brown plains rushing below them as they passed. "Um, you may want to strap in..." he said, just as the shuttle shuddered, then started spinning.

### Now

Trip allowed Malcolm to lean against him slightly as they queued for breakfast, or what passed for breakfast in this camp. As they waited in the snaking line, Trip looked at the people around them, their fellow captives. Everyone was so ragged, so beaten down. Even those who were relatively new, like themselves, looked like they'd been here for years, the wind and the dust blurring their features as it coated their skin.

It was odd, in fact, how much their fellow internees looked like they did. Everyone here looked so human.

Trip noticed several people helping the injured or ill, trying to keep their efforts from the guards so as not to call attention to those who were struggling. He had seen what happened to people who weren't healthy here. Right from the beginning, when they'd first arrived...He tried to stop thinking about that, about what would happen to Malcolm if the guards realised that he was hurt.

Trip focused on the back of the person in front of him. He and Malcolm were lucky, really; sort of. No one suspected that they weren't from this planet. He snickered to himself. If it was this bad being from here, he couldn't imagine what would have happened if they suspected the truth.

He watched the guards out of corner of his eye. He couldn't see any obvious differences in the appearance of the guards versus the internees, but the locals obviously could. In fact, when they were first captured, he and Malcolm were immediately identified as belonging to the race in the camps, the Czarna, rather than the race of the guards, the Proszka. Apart from the guns and the uniforms, though, he couldn't tell the difference.

Best Trip could tell, there were people speaking several different languages here, so their inability to speak with their fellow prisoners wasn't questioned. Lucky. And they'd been fortunate, at first, that their translator was working after the crash, albeit poorly. They realised quickly that they definitely couldn't use it to speak without revealing themselves, and they couldn't signal the ship, but it worked well enough to allow them to understand some of what was going on. They kept the device hidden as they were forced to join other prisoners on a transport, and so they were able to overhear the conversations swirling around them; whispers of genocide, and of an internment camp on the prairie.

Malcolm stumbled beside him, and Trip reached over quickly, hauling him back up, one eye always on the guards.

### Before

Trip opened his eyes to see the floor of the shuttle above him and he lay still for a moment, assessing his injuries. He groaned and, realising that he probably wasn't hurt but for bumps and bruises, tried to move, but the debris over him prevented it. Freeing his arm, he pushed a box and some metal sheeting off his body, releasing himself, and he stood slowly. He stumbled, then straightened, steadying himself with a hand against the wall.

"Malcolm?" he called, his voice hoarse. Hearing no response, he looked around and saw Malcolm's hair sticking out of some debris at the far end of the shuttle. "Shit," He muttered and, limping slightly, started moving debris out of his way. Reaching his friend, he knelt and started pulling away the rubble. He checked Malcolm's pulse and breathing. "Okay," he sighed, taking in the cuts on the other man's face, and several red marks that looked like they would bruise. Otherwise, he couldn't see any injuries, and he let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, relieved.

Trip looked around for the aid kit, smiling slightly when he saw that it was still on the wall above him, where it should be. He grabbed it and pulled out the smelling salts—old fashioned, but effective. He cracked them open and waved them under Malcolm's nose.

Malcolm shot awake and tried to move, hissing in pain as his eyes slammed shut.

"What?" Trip asked, alarmed.

"My back," Malcolm replied, his voice low, his eyes still closed.

Trip carefully slid his hand behind Malcolm's back, feeling wetness there. He moved it until he came up against something solid and cold, metal, maybe, a support pole or something, that was thrust into the right side of Malcolm's back. This was bad, he thought. Bad, bad, bad.

Trip removed his hand cautiously, wiping the blood onto his trousers unconsciously. "Um, I don't want to move you," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Malcolm lay there, his breath harsh, his eyes still closed. After a second, Trip saw his brow wrinkle, and his eyes opened. Frowning, he said one word. "Smoke."

As soon as he heard the word, Trip realised that he smelled it as well. He turned to see smoke coming from the front of the shuttle, and then a sudden burst of flame. "Oh, no, no," he said loudly as he strode to the front, pulling the fire extinguisher off the wall as he walked, still limping slightly.

He tried to put the fire out as the cabin began filling with thick, acrid smoke, the blackness swirling and spinning in front of him, curling along the surface above his head and sinking faster than he would have thought possible. Stumbling back, unable to stop the flames, he bent down below the smoke and made a quick retreat, coughing as he returned to Malcolm's side. "We have to get you out of here," he said nervously as he knelt down. "Um, I'm going to have to push you forward, away from..."

Malcolm nodded and closed his eyes, bracing himself.

Trip placed his arms behind Malcolm's back, sliding them in, one above the metal pole, the other below it. "On three," he whispered. "One, two, three..." Trip pushed, sliding Malcolm's body away from the pole. Malcolm hissed in pain, but moved a bit, just enough to slide away from pole and slump forward. Trip glanced at the wound, at the blood dripping off of the pole, before he pulled Malcolm up, triggered the door, and stepped out.

Trip dropped Malcolm onto the grass several metres away from the smoking shuttle. Not taking time to look around him, he rushed back into the shuttle, forcing himself through the black smoke and the heat. Unable to see, he scrabbled for the aid kit and pushed himself back out.

Trip dropped down next to Malcolm, glancing over to see his friend crumpled there, unconscious, his shirt torn where the pole had gone through, the wound on his back bleeding freely. As the shuttle burned nearby, smoke roiling from the open doorway, Trip rifled through the tiny aid kit, pulling out bandages, which he thrust against Malcolm's back. Holding them there with one hand, he tugged out his communicator and triggered it. Nothing.

### Now

Trip watched as a new group of internees entered this area of the camp. Every day, there was a new group. He slumped onto the ground beside Malcolm, sliding a bowl in front of him as he began eating from his own. When he noticed that Malcolm made no move to start, he reached over and jostled the bowl with one word, "Eat."

As Malcolm picked up the bowl, Trip watched the new captives get into line, and he remembered their own arrival at the camp, the smells of the fresh air and the grass almost overwhelming after the long hours enclosed in the crowded transport. Then the flurry and panic as the injured, young and ill were separated from the rest of the group, and he assumed...well, he assumed that they'd been killed.

Trip and Malcolm were lucky; they looked strong, although Malcolm was injured, but hiding it well. The guards didn't check too closely, and Trip had given Malcolm his jacket to cover the blood on his uniform.

Trip glanced over to where Malcolm was sitting listlessly, his eyes fixed on some distant point, the empty bowl in his hand. Trip shook his head.

When they arrived, everything they had: their aid kit, the communicator and translator, even their clothes, was thrown into a huge pile by the entrance. Trip supposed that the items were sorted later, or maybe burned.

So from that point on, they hadn't been able to comprehend any of the conversations going on around them, although they understood what was going on as they were deloused, showered, and given new clothes. And they certainly understood when one of the guards burned an identification symbol onto each of their forearms.

Trip watched as the new prisoners shambled forward, pulling his eyes away only when the guards signalled them to get up and start working again.

* * *

Trip stood for a second, leaning on his hammer. He almost laughed, at what he wasn't sure, but he caught himself just before it could burst out of his mouth.

Malcolm glanced up at him with a question on his face. Trip smiled slightly and shook his head, then lifted the hammer again.

This place was driving him nuts, and not slowly, either. They'd been there only a few days, or a week, maybe, and already he was going numb, dissociating from what was really going on here. He struck the fastener in front of him. Genocide. He struck it again. Holocaust. There were literally thousands of people here, more every day, all being worked to death, and for what? For being Czarna, which somehow made them different, less worthy. He slammed the tie again. Less human. He stopped, almost laughing again. Not human exactly, he thought. Looking around at the other people toiling beside him, he thought, Well, close enough.

He was sick of this place. Sick of sleeping outdoors, with barely any shelter on these brutal plains. Sick of trudging over the undulating hills, pushing through grass up to his knees.

He was sick of the cold, especially at night with the wind howling across plains with no trees for windbreaks, only scrub brush. That first night, it was all they could do just to cuddle up against each other, too late to try to build something. But he was warm right now, the work made him hot.

He was sick of the work. It was physical, and hard. He paused for a second, staring down at the track they were building. A track to eternity, in both directions, and there was nothing else to see; no buildings, no people other than the internees and the guards, not even animals but for a few birds, or what look like birds, in the sky.

He was getting numb. It was like he wasn't even human any more, just hands, and a back, working.

A guard moved nearby, and Trip started hammering again. Earlier, he'd seen someone fall, too sick or hurt to work, and they'd been taken away. Trip had tried to ask the person next to him about it, but he didn't speak the language, of course. But that person understood, indicating what would happen to the sick person with a simple shake of his head. That ill person wouldn't come back.

Trip glanced down to see Malcolm struggling, trying to get the next tie ready. He was tired, hurt, and still feverish.

Malcolm bent down and Trip could see blood and something else weeping out from under the jacket, soaking the edge of his pants. Trip shook his head, and kept working.

* * *

Trip sat with his back against one of the walls of their shelter, Malcolm sitting in front of him as he checked the other man's wound. He took a bit of water from his dinner cup and used it clean away the worst of the dirt and blood, dabbing gently, knowing from Malcolm's posture that he was in pain.

"Sorry," Trip murmured as he worked. He could tell that the wound was infected, the skin around it swollen and red, but with no antibiotics, not even anything to properly clean it with...he sighed. He felt useless. Malcolm was sick, feverish. His wound was infected. He was getting sicker, and there was nothing Trip could do to help. Nothing. They needed Enterprise, and sickbay. He turned his face to the sky. Where were they?

Trip tried to pull himself together as he finished bandaging the wound; smiling as best he could as Malcolm moved away.

Malcolm turned to face him, his eyes dull, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

Trip's smile weakened as he saw the look in his friend's eyes: the hurt, the exhaustion completely visible. "Sorry," he said again, his voice just above a whisper.

### Before

Trip sat in the tall grass, watching as the shuttle burned, one hand pressing the bandage against Malcolm's back. He felt Malcolm stir under his hand. "Shh...," he said, trying to calm the injured man as he continued to put pressure on the wound.

"No," Malcolm replied, his voice shaky as he tried to sit. "We need to move away from the shuttle. It's too obvious."

"All right," Trip replied, "But hold on, I need to get you bandaged up first." He rummaged in the kit, pulling out a painkiller and several bandages, but finding no antibiotics. As best he could, he cleaned Malcolm's wound, then bandaged it, following up with a shot of the painkiller. He helped his friend stand and they moved away from the shuttle unsteadily, walking until they could no longer see the smoke.

Malcolm froze, and Trip stumbled to a stop beside him. "There's someone...," Malcolm said softly, moving his head slightly to the right. Trip turned and saw several uniformed people approaching with weapons raised.

### Now

Trip lifted another chunk of sod from the stack he'd made, raising it to the top of one of the walls he'd fashioned in their first days here, trying to build a roof for part of their shelter.

"I really can help, commander," Malcolm said from where he was seated near the wall. "I could at least stack..."

Trip shook his head. He stepped to Malcolm and squatted in front of him. Lowering his voice, he said, "You're too sick." Seeing Malcolm about to speak, he kneeled down, almost pleading. "Please. You might feel all right now, but need to reserve your strength for the work we have to do in the day." He left the rest unsaid: so that he'd look healthy, so that he wouldn't be taken away.

Malcolm nodded, and Trip smiled, rising to stand and return to his work. After a while, he glanced to Malcolm again to see him leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, maybe dozing. Good. Trip could tell that today had take a lot out of him. Not just the work, but covering for the injury and his sickness, trying to keep up a "healthy" pace. Trip shook his head. Best he sleeps.

Trip worked until it was almost nightfall, the light lasting until late, then stopped, listening to the others around them settling down for night: the rise and fall of voices, the blurred conversations in many languages, and someone humming nearby. He slumped against the wall, singing softly to himself as he watched the sun set, "Bring me only beautiful, useless things."

"Feeling poetic, commander?"

Trip smiled at Malcolm, glad to see him awake and seeming alert. The rest had done him good.

"I needed something," Trip said. "Some small beauty, to combat this." He waved, taking in his surroundings with the sweep of his arm.

"The sunset's nice," Malcolm said wryly.

"True, but the rest is crap," replied Trip with a grin.

"What song was that?" Malcolm asked.

"It's actually an old poem about an injured soldier in a field hospital. He was found after two days in the rain, shrapnel in his lungs. It's what he thought about in the hospital, finally rescued, done with the war." He smiled. "I wrote the tune when I was young, but I don't remember it all now, just parts."

"Like what?"

Trip smiled shyly, then started singing. "Come to me only with playthings now...No more iron cold and real to handle, shaped for a drive straight ahead. Bring me only beautiful useless things. Only old home things touched at sunset in the quiet..."

Malcolm nodded, straightening his back uncomfortably. "I agree. I certainly could use some old home things."

"Such as?"

"Food."

"Beer," Trip chimed in.

"Drugs," Malcolm said, grimacing slightly.

"How's your back?"

Malcolm shifted uncomfortably. "Not well."

"Sorry," Trip said, looking away.

"It's not your fault," Malcolm replied, his eyes drilling into Trip. "None of this is your fault." When Trip didn't reply, he continued. "You should sleep, sir."

"Don't call me sir," Trip said. "Not down here. Just, you should just call me Trip."

Malcolm nodded. "Malcolm, then."

"Malcolm," Trip replied, smiling slightly.

"It's going to be cold tonight," Malcolm said. "We should pool our body heat, sir." At a look from Trip, he revised. "Um, Trip." He waved the engineer over.

Trip nodded, sliding to Malcolm's side and lying down. Malcolm curled himself around Trip's back, and they slept.

* * *

Trip blinked against the early morning light, craning his neck behind him to look at Malcolm, curled up next to him. Despite his relative cheer of the night before, the man was obviously sick, and it was getting harder for him to hide his injury with each passing day.

Trip rolled onto his back, staring up at the lightening sky. He'd lost track of the days, of how long they'd been here. He let his eyes trace the sky, hoping to see Enterprise.

He had no choice. They had to find a way to escape. He turned his head and watched Malcolm sleep. They didn't have much more time. Eventually, the guards would notice that Malcolm was sick, or injured, and the longer they stayed, the more they risked this, or his becoming too ill to escape.

Trip made his decision. Today. Today, during the clamour that was lunch, they'd leave, just walk away.

And go where?

He rolled over to face Malcolm. It didn't matter. They just couldn't stay here.

* * *

Trip and Malcolm passed the area that the prisoners used as a toilet and kept walking, neither one looking back, instead walking straight towards some scrub brush in the near distance. Trip was almost afraid to turn around, afraid that he'd jinx them, and anyway, he knew that it didn't matter if they were seen at this point. Malcolm was probably too weak to run if they had to make a break for it, so they either would be able to calmly walk away, or...they wouldn't.

After several long minutes, they reached the brush and settled behind it. Malcolm was breathing hard, exhaustion plain on his face. Trip peered over the scrub, seeing the guards in the distance still occupied with the lunchtime crowds. He found it odd that they'd been able to simply walk away, unnoticed, unmissed, but he thought that perhaps the guards didn't care enough to keep careful track. After all, there was nowhere for prisoners to go if they did escape. Trip sank back down, relieved; amazed, really, that it was so easy, wondering if any others had ever tried this, and trying not to think about what had happened to those who had.

"So, what next, Trip?" Malcolm said from beside him, his voice pained.

"We wait here for nightfall, then start walking again," Trip said, his stomach rumbling hungrily. He stared off into space, thinking that it didn't matter to where, really.

* * *

The sky was clear above them, the air crisp, the stars sparkling in the atmosphere. It was beautiful, really, Trip thought as he lead Malcolm along, half supporting his friend's weight. Under other circumstances, this entire planet could be considered beautiful. It was a quiet night, and Trip could hear the swish of their feet as they moved through the tall grass, the rustle of the grass in the breeze, and the occasional movement or call of animals.

Otherwise there had been nothing—no signs of civilisation, nothing.

Trip looked down at his feet. He was tired; they'd been walking for hours, but he kept moving forward. Malcolm walked beside him, his head down.

Malcolm's head shot up. "Ahead," he said softly, nodding in that direction.

Trip saw movement where Malcolm had indicated, and then there was a man in front of them. A guard. Trip stopped, frozen. He closed his eyes in defeat.

* * *

The vehicle jostled and woke Trip from his doze, the back of the wagon still dark around him, the only light coming from the poor seal around the door. He shifted slightly, careful not to move too much and disturb Malcolm, who was using his lap as a pillow.

The vehicle stopped and Trip heard a door open, then steps pass the side of the truck as the guard came around to the back, opening the door and waving them forward with his weapon. Trip blinked against the sudden brightness, then woke Malcolm and, indicating the door, helped him to stand. They moved unsteadily towards the gate, sliding off the edge of the bed and standing carefully, stiff from the long journey.

The guard motioned them forward and they walked towards some sort of structure, half underground with only the entrance visible, the roof simply appearing to be a slight rise in the grass around it. Stepping in front of them, the guard opened the door with a smile.

A smile? Trip thought, alarmed. Where are we?

Trip took a cautious step forward, his eyes trained on the guard, one hand clutching Malcolm's arm. Ducking to enter the structure, Trip was almost overwhelmed by the sudden warmth, the soft lights, and the smells of food that surrounded him. He felt Malcolm, just behind him, stumble as he entered, and he reached back to steady him.

He heard the guard enter behind them, closing the door firmly and cutting off the sounds of the truck driving away. Glancing at the guard, he saw him lower his weapon, then noticed another person in the room, a woman, clean and healthy. Approaching them, she reached out and tried to take Malcolm by the arm, but he jerked away, almost falling. She held up her hands appeasingly and began to speak, smiling gently, waving them forward and motioning for them to sit.

Glancing at Malcolm, Trip walked forward, wary, and sat on a nearby bench, Malcolm beside him. The woman handed them something that looked like bread, and Trip took it, unsure. When she motioned that they should eat, still talking and smiling, Trip nodded, and tore off a hunk to hand to his friend. As he took his first bite, he saw the guard smile and exchange a word with the woman, then, casually twirling his weapon, walk through a door in the far wall.

The woman slowly came over to them, making soothing noises as she smiled at Trip, and then pointed to Malcolm. She made some sort of sign and said something, and Trip thought that she might be asking if Malcolm was sick or hurt.

It was obvious, to Trip's eyes, that Malcolm was both, but he wasn't sure if he could trust this woman. Hesitantly, he shook his head "no."

The woman looked at him, stern, and then said something, motioning towards Malcolm again.

"It's all right, Trip," Malcolm said quietly. "I don't think we have a choice."

Trip paused and looked at Malcolm, catching the defeat in his friend's eyes. He sighed, then looked back at the woman, and slowly nodded, pointing to Malcolm's back.

She made a sign again, which maybe meant wait, or help, and he nodded. She left the room, walking through another door that opened with a burst of noise, voices, and light. Trip craned his neck, trying to see through the door, but the woman came back into the room quickly, box in hand, closing the door behind her. She sat next to Malcolm, and he watched her warily as she rummaged through the container, pulling out several items and laying them on the bench beside her.

As she moved, Trip noticed her arm. Unlike on theirs, there was no brand, no symbol. Trip glanced up and caught her eyes, which had followed his own as he raised them from her arm. She nodded, then smiled kindly.

Turning her body to face Malcolm, she glanced around him to Trip and raised her eyebrows in a question. Trip nodded, and said to Malcolm, "I think she's Proszka, but she seems to be on our side."

Malcolm looked at him warily.

Trip smiled slightly. "Maybe, anyway. But I think that she's going to try to patch you up."

Malcolm nodded and flinched slightly as the woman pulled up his shirt and jacket. She hissed in a soft breath, then started to carefully pull aside the filthy, bloody, make-shift bandages, revealing the infected wound. She looked at Trip briefly, her worry clearly visible, then back to the injury.

Malcolm sat stiffly, his eyes closed, his head hanging down as she worked to clean the wound as best she could, and then applied a fresh bandage.

Once she was done, she looked up at Trip, her eyes still clouded with concern. She twisted to face her box and, after a moment, turned back to him with a bottle containing some sort of green liquid and a small spoon. Handing the bottle to Trip, she pointed at Malcolm, holding up the spoon in her left hand, and showing one finger with her right. One spoonful, once per day. Trip nodded in thanks and she handed him the spoon.

She stood and waved them forward, indicating that they should come with her. Trip stood and Malcolm finally raised his head, watching Trip move, his eyes dull with pain. Trip placed his hand on Malcolm's arm and helped him rise, and they followed the woman into the back room.

This room was much larger, with areas of cots separated for privacy by curtains and cloths. Trip looked around as they followed the woman. There were at least a hundred people there, of all ages, most looking fairly healthy and well fed.

The woman showed them to an area along the wall that contained two cots, separated from the rest by a curtain, which was currently pulled back. She indicated that they should stay there, and she smiled, then turned and left.

Trip helped Malcolm sink onto one of the cots, and then squatted in front of him.

"Where are we?" Malcolm asked, his voice almost slurring with exhaustion.

"I don't know. Some sort of safe house, maybe?" Trip sat down on the floor in front of the bed, and opened the bottle the woman had given him. "She gave you this." He sniffed at the bottle, then smiled slightly. "I have no idea what it does, but..."

Malcolm grimaced. "Just give it to me."

Trip nodded and poured a spoonful, raising one eyebrow as he moved the spoon up and into Malcolm's open mouth.

"Not bad," Malcolm said, smiling a bit. "Kind of mintish, maybe a little...ooh," he said as he blinked and his smile broadened. "How much of that do I get to take?"

Trip smiled. "One a day."

"Too bad," Malcolm said dreamily. He blinked languidly. "Nice, that. Um, floaty." He straightened slightly. "Back doesn't hurt anymore." He giggled.

"Maybe you should lie down," Trip said, his smile broadening as he stood.

"Sounds nice," Malcolm said through a yawn, his eyes already closing as Trip helped him settle back and pulled a blanket up over him.

* * *

They were walking...Malcolm fell...The guards were there, their weapons drawn...They saw Malcolm crumpled on the ground...One guard raised his weapon and pointed it at the fallen man...Trip heard the shot...

Trip awoke in darkness. He shot upright, disoriented, realising where he was only once his eyes rested on Malcolm, sleeping on a nearby cot.

Trip heard a movement nearby, and then soft voices.

Pushing aside his blanket, he slid off his cot, kneeling in front of Malcolm. He placed one hand, gently, on his friend's shoulder, not wanting to wake him, but needing to know that he was okay. He could still feel the heat of the fever, but maybe less than earlier; maybe that drug was helping. He rubbed his hand along Malcolm's arm.

Trip returned to his own cot and lay back down, staring up at the dark ceiling above him.

* * *

Trip woke in the morning to the sounds of people stirring and the almost unbelievably good smell of food cooking nearby. He groaned as he stretched away the stiffness of the night, smiling as he inhaled and his stomach rumbled hungrily.

He looked over to Malcolm's cot to see his friend still sleeping, his back to him. His blanket had fallen off in the night and lay on the floor beside him, and his filthy shirt had pulled up revealing his bandage, already spotty with blood.

Trip heard pots banging nearby, then laughing. Malcolm stirred and rolled onto his back, squinting against the light.

"Hey, Malcolm," Trip sat up and watched as Malcolm's eyes slowly tracked to meet his. "How're you feeling?"

"Drowsy, and like my head is stuffed with cotton floss."

Trip pushed away his blanket and stood, moving to Malcolm's side. "There's a place where you can clean up, and some food if you want it."

Malcolm nodded. "When did you get so clean?"

"While you were sleeping. You slept for a long time."

Malcolm struggled to sit up. "How long?"

"At least twelve hours, I think." Trip smiled at his friend as he helped him sit. "Good drugs."

Malcolm nodded. "Quite."

Trip helped him to the facilities, washing away the dirt as best they could. They returned to their cots and Malcolm changed into the clean clothes that had been at the bottom of the bed last night. As Malcolm sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, Trip said, "Stay here, I'll get us some food."

Trip went to the food line, eventually filling two plates full of various unidentifiable foods. Balancing both in one hand, he held two drinks with the other, and carefully made his way back to their cots. Settling on Malcolm's bed, he placed one plate in front of his friend, and handed him a drink.

"What is this?" Malcolm asked, staring down at the odd-looking items on his plate.

"I have no idea," Trip replied, picking up one morsel and putting it in his mouth. Around his mouthful, he asked, "Do you actually care?"

Malcolm shook his head, smiling up at Trip. "Not at all," he said, taking a bite and smiling.

Trip felt almost giddy. They were clean, warm, they had food, they maybe were safe...he hoped. Anyway, good fortune, all around. He smiled at his friend as he took another bite.

Malcolm raised his cup in a toast. "Cheers."

Trip raised his own glass. "Salud." He smiled. "To Enterprise, wherever she may be."

Malcolm nodded. "And may she get here soon."

* * *

"So, why do you think they haven't found us yet?" Trip asked, pushing his plate aside with satisfaction, full for the first time in...what? A couple of weeks? However long they'd been there.

Malcolm shrugged, still working on his food. "I'm not sure," he said around mouthfuls. "Maybe our bio signs are the same as everyone else's here. I mean, we certainly look the same." He took a sip from his drink. "Perhaps Enterprise's sensors couldn't..." he let his voice trail off as the woman who'd helped them last night sat next to Trip on the bed with an excited smile.

"Enterprise?" she asked, finishing the sentence in her own language. Seeing the looks of confusion on their faces, she spoke again, the word "Enterprise" coming up in the middle of another sentence. She stood and tugged on Trip's hand, Malcolm putting his plate down as he glanced from Trip to the woman and back. When Trip nodded, she smiled again, pulling him forward, and they both followed her to the back corner of the room, where some sort of equipment was arrayed on a table.

The woman buzzed conversation as she set it up, every once in a while mentioning "Enterprise" as she spoke. After a few moments, she reached forward and flicked a switch, eliciting a strong hum from the device, then some crackling. Bending forward, she spoke into a funnel- shaped object. Leaning back expectantly, she waited, her eyes twinkling merrily as they moved from Malcolm, to Trip, and back again.

After a few moments, Trip heard Hoshi's voice, loud and strong, speaking in the woman's language. He glanced at Malcolm, his eyes wide in shock.

The woman replied, then excitedly waved Trip forward. Cautiously, he leaned in to the mouthpiece, saying hesitantly, "Hoshi?"

Hoshi yelped, "Trip!"

Malcolm winced, and then smiled broadly, leaning against a nearby chair.

"Where the hell have you been, girl?" Trip asked, his happiness clear in his tone.

"Where have _we_ been? Where have _you_ been?" Hoshi asked, excited. "We've been looking all over for you guys. We found your shuttle, and..."

Malcolm leaned forward, saying to Trip, "Nice as this reunion is..."

Trip nodded and leaned back over the funnel. "Hoshi, when can you get us out of here?"

"Today," Hoshi replied. "We'll send down a shuttle. But do you think you can move away from your current location? The people you're with are part of an underground resistance movement there, and we don't want to reveal their location to the Proszka."

Trip hesitated. "I'm not sure, Hoshi." He glanced at Malcolm. His friend was somewhat better, but certainly not ready for another long walk. "Do you think you could talk to the folks here, see if they'd be willing to drive us?"

"Sure, Trip. Could you put her back on the line?"

Trip stepped aside, waving the woman forward, and she and Hoshi began talking again. Trip looked at Malcolm, smiling at the relief on his friend's face, sure that it was reflected in his own. They were going home.

Trip rested his back against the wall of the truck, Malcolm's head again pillowed on his lap as he slept. They'd been driving for an hour, maybe longer, and Malcolm had been dozing off and on since they'd left, the movement of the vehicle, plus their full bellies, lulling them into a daze.

The truck rolled to a stop, and Trip heard the driver get out, walking around to the back. The door opened to reveal the driver, smiling as he waved them out.

"Malcolm," Trip said quietly, shaking his friend's shoulder.

"Mmrf," Malcolm replied.

"We're there, kid."

Malcolm opened his eyes and stared up at Trip, smiling.

* * *

Trip and Malcolm lay in the grass, waiting for the shuttle to arrive.

It's such a beautiful place, Trip thought, staring up at the clouds. He breathed in, his nose filling with the scent of the grasses around him.

He turned his head to the side and, seeing Malcolm sleeping again, he turned back to the clouds. To him, the violence here seemed so arbitrary, the sides randomly drawn; he couldn't even see the difference between the two peoples, and yet the Proszka felt the difference was enough to kill the Czarna. It was unbelievable, really.

Trip rolled over onto his belly and started tugging at the grass, combing it between his fingers.

He heard the guards before he saw them, then saw a group of them advancing, their weapons drawn. They saw him before he could do anything and he heard them calling to each other, raising their weapons and pointing them at him. He froze where he was, face down on the ground, and spread his arms out to the side.

Turning his head, he could see Malcolm still beside him, sleeping. As some of the guards pulled Trip to standing, he saw others train their weapons on Malcolm, and one poked at him with the barrel of his weapon.

Malcolm stirred, then woke all at once as they pulled him up violently. He hissed in pain, and one of the guards smiled.

Trip realised that they knew. He could see it in the guard's vicious smile, in his eyes; he knew that Malcolm was hurt.

Trip panicked as he saw the guard raise his weapon, training it on Malcolm, and he yelled as his own guards pulled him forward, forcing him to start marching, to leave Malcolm behind. Trip tried to turn back, desperate, and he caught a glimpse of one guard, weapon at the ready, and Malcolm standing there.

The guards pulled Trip forward again, forcing him to move.

He heard a shot behind him.

Trip winced, cringing at the sound, tears forming in his eyes as his breath caught. They were so close. They'd been so close.

He heard the noise of the shuttle's engines before he saw it.

* * *

Trip opened his eyes, wincing at the pain in his head. He squinted and tried to make out his surroundings. The smells were different, the light was all wrong. Where were the clouds?

"You have a nasty concussion," Phlox said, his concerned face coming into view. "A guard hit you with his weapon just as the shuttle arrived." Seeing Trip's look of confusion, he asked, "Do you remember what happened, commander?"

Trip closed his eyes. "So close," he murmured. "We almost made it." His head started spinning. "Wasn't enough..."

* * *

Trip opened his eyes, staring up at the lights above him. Sickbay. Enterprise.

He heard a soft voice. "Hey, Trip."

He turned his head and saw Hoshi sitting in a chair next to his bed, one of her hands resting on his arm. "Hey, Hosh," he gasped, his voice raw. "How are you?"

"I should be asking you, commander."

Trip shrugged and looked away.

Hoshi rubbed his arm very gently. "Phlox removed the burn."

Trip glanced down at his arm, and Hoshi lifted her hand to reveal a mild red area where the brand used to be. He nodded and she moved her hand, grasping his, then letting go.

Trip stared at the ceiling, numb. He drifted with his thoughts. What was one life lost? Why mourn one person when so many more were dying? He started humming, "Give me useless, beautiful things..."

After a while, Trip realised that Hoshi was still sitting next to him.

"How long have I been here?"

"A few days, just," she replied. "You were in pretty rough shape."

"How are things in engineering?" he asked, trying to act normal, to make conversation.

Hoshi smiled broadly. "What, you want out already? I figured it would be Malcolm who..."

Trip started in shock, and Hoshi stopped speaking, her eyes widening as the realisation hit her. She rushed on. "Oh, Jesus, Trip. I'm so sorry. It's not what you think." She smiled gently. "He's right over there." She indicated the area on the other side of his bed. "He's sleeping."

Trip turned and saw Malcolm asleep on the bed across the room. He laughed, a sudden bark as a rush of feeling overwhelmed him, and turned back to Hoshi. "He's always sleeping," he whispered, his voice hoarse. Then he closed his eyes, and he felt the numbness start to melt. He began to cry quietly.


End file.
